


The Cost of Forgiveness

by aintnoonefancy



Series: The End [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Depression, Guilt, Suicide, prior abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintnoonefancy/pseuds/aintnoonefancy
Summary: Non-canon to any of my other works. Should be considered tangential to "Summon a Demon, Pocket a Friend", in that it references a major event, then proceeds to diverge from it entirely.If you or anyone in your life feels there is no way forward, please reach out. To friends, family, a medical professional. Be wary of sudden shifts in behavior, sudden 'upticks' in their mood. Recognize the signs and symptoms of depression. Stay safe and keep your loved ones safe. Life goes on, and some day that will seem like a comfort instead of a curse.1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Relationships: Henry Stein/Joey Drew/Bertrum Piedmont
Series: The End [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796203
Comments: 13
Kudos: 5





	The Cost of Forgiveness

Henry used to be able to navigate Joey like well traveled roads. He knew how to smile, how to touch him, what to say, in order to bend and twist Joey around. 

Henry was the sun, and Joey was the plant that grew and strained to capture his light and warmth on his leaves. At his own whims and fancies, Henry scorched and starved leaves and petals off Joey’s bloom, keeping him well confined and presentable, entertaining himself as Joey withered yet dared not turn away from Henry's warmth.

Only trouble was now he realized that Joey was _ivy_ , not some delicately blooming flower, and he was stretched to reach heights and depths and distances he had never thought to cull him to prevent. With Johan shedding light on his behavior, with Ray exposing the sort of man Henry was and wasn’t- the sort who would crush life underfoot with a smile and a bland quip- Henry noticed just how thick the carpet of ivy had spread under his feet. 

At every turn, every step, he found more vines around his ankles, and he found he _cared_ that his movements, his every day living, stomped on leaves and tore apart roots and tendrils. Thank God for Bertrum. If Henry was the brute treading through the garden, Bertrum was a living fence, a buffer between him and destruction.

Joey flinched and cringed like a beaten animal whenever Henry looked at him, even when all Henry had intended to do was apologize. The guilt sat heavy in his stomach like a lead weight, dragged deeper down through the earth every time he saw Joey’s hands shake while he smiled, every time Bertrum had to intercede on his behalf and draw Joey away like Henry was nothing more than a poison. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Henry could see the damage being done but couldn’t prevent it no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t fair that Joey wasn’t even _trying_ to let him earn forgiveness, that Bertrum actively prevented him from confronting Joey alone to apologize and atone. It wasn’t fair that he had nothing but guilt in his chest, in his throat, thick vines that grew with each passing day, and no way to alleviate it. It wasn’t fair, but it was the garden he had grown and made for himself.

That said, he got his chance when Bertrum was dragged away on a business trip. A full week where Joey _had_ to give Henry the light of day. Where they could have an actual and productive conversation, and Henry would be able to breathe again, feel human again. Where he could tell Joey everything, explain every ounce of remorse that sat in his throat and chest, and maybe Joey would stop. Stop flinching, stop falling silent, stop trembling, stop _every_ behavior that Henry had painstakingly ingrained in him over the years.

The execution of such a plan fell through spectacularly. Repeatedly. 

Henry tried confronting Joey during breakfast, setting down both a plate and an explicit demand for conversation- Joey simply stood and walked away, leaving behind both him and the food. He tried waiting for Joey in the foyer after work, but after the first time, Joey simply came home later, not walking through the front door until nearly seven at night and looking half dead on his feet. He tried a letter, but couldn’t find the right way phrase it that didn’t sound like he was still blaming Joey. And he didn’t, genuinely he didn’t, but he also didn’t know a way forward without hurting Joey more. 

It was his desperation that found him on a Friday night kneeling in front of the door to Joey’s bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered, forehead pressed against the wood. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to psyche himself out over the fact that a simple apology was downright insulting in the face of everything he did. “I am so, so sorry, Joey, I swear to God, I am so sorry I hurt you. I should have treated you better.”

With how exhausted and worn out Joey had looked, it was entirely possible the man was already asleep. Henry had no way to know. Bouncing his foot, he grit his jaw.

“I won’t ever hurt you again,” he promised. Balling his fists up, he pressed them into his thighs and fought for every word, begging them to be the right ones. “I’ll never act like that again. I’ll never hit you, I’ll never mock you, I’ll never force you into sex or anything again. I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want you to be happy.”

The subsequent silence hit like a fist to the face, the pain round and blossoming out, warm and wet and sharp behind his eyes. 

“I can’t undo the past,” Henry rasped around the tears clogging his throat. “All I can do is say I’m sorry and do better, because I am so damn sick with guilt.”

Something hit the other side of the door and slid down. “Hush up, Henry,” Joey sighed. He sounded exhausted, the words shaky and weak, like all the air had left his lungs. “Please. Cease your rambling.”

“I mean it. It’s not rambling or blabbering. You need to know that I won’t ever do any of it again,” he protested. “You can relax, live your life unafraid of me hurting you. You can and should be happy, Joey, I _promise_.”

No response. Henry figured he got lucky enough as it was to have been able to speak to Joey, even if only through the door. 

Swallowing the worst of his rising nausea and the realization that he might have made everything ten times worse for Joey, Henry placed his hand on the wood, imagining where his head probably rested on the other side. 

Quietly, he insisted, “You never deserved any of what I did to you.”

Henry pushed himself to his feet after too many long, silent minutes, leaving Joey behind with the apology he had regurgitated in a frenzy. All he could do was hope at this point.

.

That hope paid off. 

The next morning, Joey kissed him - a quick peck on the cheek, chaste and all the more profound for its simplicity - as he poured them both a cup of coffee. It was so similar to so many earlier kisses, earlier domestic mornings, each tainted in hindsight, in the remembrance that he used to behave like this to manipulate Joey, but this kiss was pure. It was far from forgiveness, not even on the radar, but it was a step forward, one that Henry had worried he would never earn.

Long after Joey had disappeared into the living room to read -- carrying one of Henry’s own suggestions, at that -- Henry stood dumbfounded, remembering the gentle curve of Joey’s smile over his shoulder. He pressed his hand to his cheek, holding in the warmth and familiar-yet-novel sensation, before following. 

As he read, Joey offered commentary, questions, invited actual conversation. Henry felt like his heart was about to burst open. This complete 180 from constant fear to faint promises of trust, left him dizzy and giddy and grinning like an absolute fool. More than once, Joey reminded him as such, gazing fondly at him as he teased.

Around midday, Henry pressed his luck and offered to make lunch- and let out a sigh of relief when the man acquiesced, when he didn’t narrow his eyes and try to read for any back-handed comments designed to manufacture insecurity. It was a simple lunch, baked pasta, and Joey actually _ate_. Henry could have cried. His eyes stung and his throat felt tight all the same as he smiled at him. 

Tomorrow, Bertrum would return and, for once, Henry was looking forward to being able to report how well they had gotten along in the man’s absence, even despite the horrifically rough start to the week. While praise was low on his priority here, he couldn’t deny the allure of both Joey and Bertrum acknowledging that he was making an effort, that he was trying to change and be a better man.

They played a few hands of poker, then a few rounds of some sort of half-assed mixture of poker and gin rummy, trading formal rules and guidelines for banter and easy conversation. Joey idly monologued about an article he had read between shuffling cards, but Henry knew Joey could have been discussing anything at all and Henry would still be thrilled beyond measure to be able to listen to him speak at length, to indulge himself, not to count his words or stop short mid sentence to avoid talking ‘too much’.

“Henry,” Joey stopped abruptly, startling the man out of his appreciation. 

“I was listening!” he hastily assured him. “The radiation map proves that the universe really is expanding infinitely.”

His smile was warm and loose, sweet and open. Henry couldn’t remember the last time he saw such a trusting expression on Joey’s face. Not one that he did not immediately wreck and shatter soon as it formed. “I recognize that you were listening,” Joey nodded, lips quirked in bemusement. “Truly, your attentiveness is appreciated. Henry... I simply wanted to thank you for apologizing and attempting to prove yourself a different man than the one I knew for years.”

Henry fought to keep his pallor from blanching, knowing he fully deserved such a comment. He busied himself shuffling the cards again, searching for the strength to speak. “I promised you that I’ll never hurt you again and I meant it.”

“I believe you,” Joey decided.

A weight lifted from his shoulders, heavy regret slipping down to pool at his feet rather than around his neck. “I’ll never hurt you again,” Henry insisted.

“You’re repeating yourself at this point,” Joey dismissed. “You regret your actions, you acknowledge that you damaged my self worth to further your own agenda--”

Swallowing, Henry refused to allow his shoulders to curl in shame. He deserved this, all the more when Joey’s brows rose in surprise at his lack of denial.

“--and you injured me grievously. Above all else, you directly impeded my ability to save our employees from Them.”

He had. It was nothing he wanted to consciously acknowledge, the recognize that heavy hand he played in exacerbating the situation. He waited in silence for judgement.

“I forgive you,” Joey stated, speaking around a yawn that brought tears to his eyes. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear it of his fatigue, like a kitten stubbornly stomping away from the warmth of its mother. Henry checked the time. Ten at night. Where had the time gone? He almost resented the passage of time, wanting this companionable period to last forever, but relief superceded his selfishness.

“Tomorrow’s a new day.” Henry pointed out, not bothering to hold back his grin, because tomorrow was indeed a new day, the perfect chance to see if this would become the new status quo. “And Bert will be returning tomorrow, too. I’ll clean this up, you get some rest.”

Joey eyed the room, taking in the out of place pillows or blankets, the cards Henry nearly had returned to their box already. He held in a chuckle. (Henry promised himself that soon he would get Joey to stop that, that he would hear Joey laugh openly and freely again.) “I suppose I best retire for now, then. Henry, I am incredibly grateful for your efforts. Tonight was lovely.”

Warmth travelled from his toes to the tips of his ears and he smiled, helpless against his own self-satisfaction. He murmured, “Sleep well, Joey,” and watched Joey as he walked out of the room. As soon as the door shut, Henry leaped to his feet, scattering cards every which way, and pumped his fist, cheering as silently as possible. 

His heartbeat beat in his chest like fireworks as he cleaned up the mess he just made. 

Progress felt _amazing_.

.

Something cracked and catapulted him awake. Before his conscious mind could try to make sense of the sound, Henry grabbed the book on his nightstand before beginning to search out the source. The halls were dark, befitting it being late at night- or maybe incredibly early in the morning. 

It was probably nothing, he realized as he gripped harder on the book. And if it _was_ something, a paperback wasn’t going to do shit. He felt more than slightly ridiculous as he changed his path to check on Joey and see if he had heard the sound too. 

The office light was on, seeping from the cracks where the door was not flush with the threshold. He kept meaning to get around to fixing the hinges anyway, so maybe this would incentivize him to get around to it.

“Come on, Joey,” he called, “it’s way too late to be up.”

Silence answered him. Bouncing his foot, Henry tucked the book under his arm, checking his watch, and knocked.

“Come on, it’s two in the morning,” Henry complained as he pushed open the door.

He stopped short.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, hopeless as his voice snapped and died in his throat. A full body shudder nearly took his legs out from under him, knees becoming watery, as he gripped the door. His eyes caught on the damning line of blackish red spilling down Joey’s temple, his face, to pool on his chest, to the damned pistol in his lax grip.


End file.
